


The Path to Paradise

by holocroning



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene, crime and punishment, hux is a weasel, i'll take any excuse to use a dante quote, i'm an edgelord, leave the base at once and come to me with kylo ren, my headcanon for TLJ's opening, snoke knows all, tsundere torture, writing edgelord things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 15:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12938625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holocroning/pseuds/holocroning
Summary: “This will be your final test. Your failure will be your demise.” The Supreme Leader’s voice was a requiem, his words a resounding death knell. It was just a question of whose.





	The Path to Paradise

"The path to Paradise begins in Hell." —Dante Alighieri, _The Divine Comedy_

 

 

Kylo’s eyes snapped open. His vision was blurred and he started with a sharp breath, the sound of it muffled by a warm thickness that filled his ears and enveloped his body. Twisting,he was a tangle of pale limbs and dark hair as he grappled for his lightsaber, but there was only bare skin where his blade should have been. He was unarmed.

 _The scavenger._ The thought was like a lightning bolt, jolting through him and setting his blood on fire.

His movements were slower than they should have been, limbs dragging despite his thundering pulse as he tried to regain his bearings. There was something covering half of his face—a mask, but not the one he knew. Kylo’s hands flew to it, felt the long, dark tube that supplied oxygen to his lungs and realization sunk into him.

He was in a bacta tank.

It made sense now as he looked down at his bare arms and legs, saw how he drifted in the warm indigo liquid. He grit his teeth. _Where is she? Where am_ I _?_ Kylo looked up, dark hair drifting over his eyes to obscure his vision. He brushed it away with his forearm.

And saw Hux beyond a wall of transparisteel.

There was no mistaking the General’s sneer. How long had he been standing there?

 _So the First Order has retrieved me then,_ Kylo thought, a small amount of tension dissipating with his next exhale. It was quickly replaced by something else: worms of guilt threading through his gut, accompanied by a flash of heat in his cheeks at the notion he had lost. Some small part of him had been fearful, not at the thought of being captured—he would have escaped the Resistance, dead or alive—but at the notion of who it might’ve been standing there instead, instructing the medical droids to release him. Images he’d longed wished gone flashed in his mind: thoughts of a woman with a stern face, her brown hair woven into a long, thick braid and dark, worried eyes that seemed to soften at the sight of him. Kylo’s stomach churned.

He was weak, cracking over foolish sentiments and falsehoods and the scavenger had bested him for it—just as Hux was besting him now. His hands clenched into fists. Kylo knew the General took great pleasure in seeing him like this, naked and weaponless and defeated. He hated the man for it, but he hated himself more. It was his own failure that’d brought him here.

Still, Kylo spared the General nothing, dissecting the redhead with a long, cutting glare before allowing himself to float to the top of the tank.

“How long was I submerged, General?” Kylo demanded the second the droids pulled him from the healing liquid.

“The Supreme Leader requires your presence.” Hux’s non-answer was sharp. Kylo noted that there was an odd glint in the General’s eye. The man was looking down rather than at his face and frowning, Kylo followed Hux’s gaze to the corner of his left hip.

White-hot rage blossomed under his skin, his being suddenly _hot_ . A dark scar—no, _wound_ —marred his pale flesh, splintering out from the bowcaster’s impact point like an arachnid’s web. It looked fresh, and Kylo roiled at what that meant.

“How long was I submerged?” Kylo spoke deliberately as he clambered to his feet. He made a quick reach for the standard fold of clothes, boots and helmet the droids had provided him before advancing on the General. This man, this _varlet_ had been far more of a blight on his existence than any wound could ever be. Hux took a step back, which only invigorated Kylo and made it more difficult to resist extracting the General’s spine through his throat then and there.

“Not so much as a full cycle, if you must know,” Hux said, nose wrinkling. The General seemed to plant his feet, unwilling to give up any more ground. Tucking his hands behind his back, he said, “As I mentioned, the Supreme Leader requires your presence, Ren. Best not to keep him waiting. I can’t imagine he thinks too fondly of you at present.”

It was like a bolt of ice had pierced Kylo’s chest. Only a few standard hours had passed since they’d put him in the tank, judging by the rawness of the blaster wound and the spliced skin of his shoulder. The scavenger—

“The Supreme Leader won’t wait for you to dwell on your wounds, Ren. Vain as you may be.” Hux _tsked_ twice before his mouth twisted back into that seemingly permanent scowl. “Well, I’ve done my part. He’s waiting.”

With that the General turned on his heel, the sound of his boots echoing off the Medical Bay’s walls. Kylo bit down on his cheek until he tasted blood, shutting his eyes so tight he saw stars instead of watching the General leave. The Supreme Leader was already furious with him he was sure, and would be even moreso if he took the liberty of executing that schutta. Even in this half-delirious state, Kylo knew he’d practically lured the Resistance to Starkiller Base by taking the scavenger girl instead of the droid, only for her to slip through his fingers—

Hastily, he drew himself up to his full height and finished dressing, pushing thoughts of _her_ from his mind. Kylo hadn’t given the room any thought before, but now that he had a moment to himself he thought the Medical Bay different than that of the _Finalizer_ . The dark durasteel walls reflected fluorescent lighting, showcasing an impressive array of appliances, gauges and machinery. It was a larger facility; better-equipped. Kylo’s stomach plummeted. He was onboard the _Supremacy_. So he’d be speaking to the Supreme Leader in person, then. It’d been a while.

A new wave of loathing washed over him when he realized he was still missing his lightsaber, only to be replaced by dread when he thought it might be lost to the destruction that was Starkiller Base. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten off the kriffing planet, but he was skeptical that whatever drudge had helped him would’ve thought to grab his blade. That blade was sacred—moreso than anything else of his, including his own miserable life. Cracked as it may be, the hilt and Kyber crystal within had once belonged to Darth Vader.

Blood would be spilt over this. Kylo didn’t care whose.

He pulled on his helmet and gloves, the last bit of exposed skin disappearing. Masks held power, and he’d been a fool to remove his before the scavenger girl. He’d been a fool about many things—he _still_ hadn’t learned—and now he would pay for his weakness. Kylo wasn’t afraid. More than anything, he was grateful as he swept out of the Medical Bay towards the Supreme Leader’s throne room. Punishment brought pain, but pain brought power and strength.

His upper lip curled in disgust. The scavenger had never known a master, never known anything beyond the endless dunes of Jakku and her own misguided loneliness and yet she’d managed to thwart and humiliate him. There was no excusing his shortcomings—bowcaster wound or not. The Wookiee’s blow should have made him stronger, should have given him a well of malignant energy to draw from but he hadn’t been capable of channeling it.

Because he was weak.

Kylo knew he wasn’t strong enough—knew he still wasn’t a worthy apprentice, but he _would_ be. With the Supreme Leader’s continued guidance and tutelage, he’d learn to harness the Force in full, become stronger than Ben Solo ever could have. His quick steps fell hard on the catwalk that spanned the gap between the ship’s bridge and the Supreme Leader’s blood-red throne room. He sensed his master’s anger long before the potentate’s features were discernible.

“Kylo Ren,” the Supreme Leader said, his sinister voice deep and full of promise. Robed in gold from head to toe, the frail figure pushed himself up from his throne to stand on the dais.

“Supreme Leader,” Kylo replied as he stopped to kneel before his master on the polished floor, bowing his head. Looking his master in the eye proved to be unexpectedly difficult, possibly because tendrils of resentment, disappointment and mal-intent already ensnared his senses.

The Supreme Leader’s voice turned low, threatening. “Once again, you disappoint me.”

Kylo kept his head bowed, equally compelled by fear and respect. “You have been generous, master. I do not deserve your grace or your discipline.”

“No,” the Supreme Leader agreed, and the word stung more than Kylo expected. “You do not.”

Kylo’s brow furrowed, mouth twisting into a grimace behind his mask. “With more instruction, I—”

“No,” the Supreme Leader interjected. Kylo struggled not to flinch. “No more instruction. When I found you I saw raw, untamed power and beyond that—something truly special. Now I see I was mistaken. What use is a well whose spring is dammed? You are resistant, Kylo Ren. You no longer listen when I speak.”

Finally, Kylo lifted his gaze to his master, to the Praetorian guards in crimson armor that flanked him. Trying to keep his voice steady Kylo said, “Supreme Leader, with your instruction—”

“Kylo Ren,” the Supreme Leader snapped, pitch rising to echo off the chamber walls. “Even now, it is as I say. You do not listen to me.”

Kylo hung his head once more. “Yes, master.”

He could feel the Supreme Leader’s gaze on him, scrutinizing and cruel. After a long moment, the soft rustle of fabric told him the potentate had returned to his seat on the throne. Kylo didn’t move.

“Perhaps there is another. An apprentice who would suit me better,” the Supreme Leader mused. Kylo’s fingers curled. “I suspect you understand who I refer to.”

“The scavenger,” Kylo bit out. His modulated voice sounded unusually foreign to his ears.

“Yes, though it would appear she is much more than that,” the Supreme Leader replied.

Kylo stiffened. “She is young, master. Naive.”

“And who better to teach her than you?” His master’s words were barbed: an obvious trap.

A lump formed in Kylo’s throat, but he forced himself to lift his head. “Master?”

Eyes cold and hard pierced him. “Oh, Kylo Ren. Did you think I would not know? That I could not sense your recklessness and betrayal? That in this very moment, I cannot sense your lingering doubt?”

Kylo ignored the tightness in his chest. He lifted a knee to stand. “Supreme Leader, I—”

“Silence. You are a hopeless boy. It would seem nothing has changed since the day I took you in.” The Supreme Leader’s mangled face was twisted in a scowl, revealing clenched teeth through the gaping hole in his cheek.

Kylo fell back on his calves, defeated. “I am not strong enough—”

The Supreme Leader cut him off. “It is not a question of your strength, foolish boy. It is your compassion for the scavenger girl which has led you to doubt me. Do you deny it?”

Fists balled in his lap, Kylo let the Supreme Leader’s words resonate. They seeped into him like a poison, trickled into his veins and filled him with dangerous thoughts and sentiments. Or perhaps they were an antidote; a much-needed source of clarity in his callow, recalcitrant mind. He wasn’t sure. The only thing Kylo knew for certain was that he longed to be rid of his inadequacies.

It was true, he’d felt a strange… affinity for her. Surprise at meeting another like him, and regrettably, an understanding of the things he’d seen in her thoughts and memories. Those feelings—the loneliness, the abandonment, the betrayal—they could be used, given the proper instruction but the girl was stubborn. She’d already placed her faith in Skywalker and the Resistance—he’d seen that in her head—and he’d sensed she would not be easily swayed.

 _You’re a monster_.

A sour, bitter taste filled Kylo’s mouth. He’d allowed her to escape—but only after he’d allowed her to mar and mangle him, incapacitate him, disgrace him before the only one who’d ever accepted him. His hands started to shake.

“Well?” The Supreme Leader interrupted his thoughts.

“I will find her before Skywalker does, and neutralize the threat she poses to our aspirations.” Kylo meant it. In that moment, he wanted her dead.

“ _Our_ aspirations?” The Supreme Leader laughed. It was a strange sound, like sand grating against wood, and somewhat incredulous. Kylo was thankful his mask concealed his confusion. “Foolish, insolent child,” the Supreme Leader murmured.

Blinding agony exploded in Kylo’s head, sending white-hot stars skittering across his vision and knocking the air from his lungs. He crumpled forward as it shot down his limbs, burning and devouring his insides as though his blood had turned molten. It tore through every muscle and organ, searing the walls of his veins and arteries until it writhed its way into the marrow of his bones. There, it consumed and ravaged and destroyed. He somehow managed to tear his helmet from his head, and then all he could hear was screaming; his own miserable, agonized screaming as the pain ransacked his body.

It lasted an eternity. Throat raw, he was powerless to form words or do anything other than grab and claw at the slippery floor while his body twisted and convulsed involuntarily. At some point he retched, though it’d been so long since he’d eaten that only a small amount of bile spilled forth to sting his lips. Then more of it, until there was nothing left but dry heaves. When the pain finally dissipated he collapsed, boneless and hollow on the floor.

“Do you still doubt me, Kylo Ren?” The Supreme Leader’s voice was quiet, yet the rancour in it sent a chill down Kylo’s spine.

“No,” he rasped, too weak to open his eyes.

“No,” Snoke agreed. “It is not me you doubt—it is the dark side. The scavenger has infected you, my long-favored apprentice. I sense it, as I sense all things. This is an unfortunate turn of events.”

Kylo hardly had time to register the violent uptick in his master’s words before the pain returned with a death blow to the chest and he was screaming again. Skin crawling and burning, limbs twisting, he _desperately_ sought reprieve but found none. It unraveled him, took every fight and thought he had left in him save for one: _Am I dying?_

A small part of him hoped so. The other part—the vengeful, malevolent, _other_ part that had long since given itself over to darkness wanted the wounds and pain to fester. He would feed on it, become stronger until finally he was worthy.

That part was louder. It always had been.

Kylo let the pain drown him, engulf him like a womb that nourished and strengthened and fortified. His master’s loathing flowed into him, every ache and sorrow and shame a reminder that he was _alive_ , that he _hated_ , and that this suffering was an homage to the man he’d one day be.

“Kylo Ren.”

The Supreme Leader’s voice was a soft pull, and it drew him from that dark, warm, primordial place where instinct ruled and the self ceased to exist. The agony prevailed, but it’d numbed into a steady blaze that coursed through him, heating him and surging at his fingertips—begging to be set free. But his master wasn’t done yet.

Palms pressed to the floor, Kylo’s head was a lead weight—near impossible to lift—but he managed. “Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“You have compassion for her.” His master’s tone was flat: not a question, but a statement.

Kylo went rigid, jaw clenched so tight he heard a tooth crack. All he could do was shake his head _no_ and try to ignore the stinging tears that threatened to cloud his vision. He was so, _so_ weak. Useless. Pitiful. It was no wonder Leia Organa had discarded him.

Something ripped through Kylo’s flesh, tore into him and made his joints give way. He collapsed, cheek knocking hard against the cool floor as he managed to wrap one hand protectively around his middle. Nausea overtook his senses, threw him into delirium and he wasn’t sure whether he was imagining it or if there really was a strange, sudden wetness where he pressed his hand against his gut. Opening his eyes took great effort, and when he did he found himself swimming in the throne room’s crimson walls.

“You crave her company. Her sympathy. You think she is like you,” the Supreme Leader purred from somewhere in front of Kylo, who was still as death. Accusations continued to pour from his master’s mouth, but Kylo hardly heard them. There was another, more sinister voice in his head.

It said _he’s right_.

Even as he lay there, castigated and ashamed, he craved those things—more desperately than he wanted to admit. He wanted to teach her, shield her from Skywalker’s misgivings and protect her from the nightmare he’d lived years ago. Kylo knew Skywalker would fail her, as he’d failed him, and that the scavenger would be better served pledging her allegiance _elsewhere_. Here, with him.

Or so he’d thought. They were wretched, traitorous sentiments and Kylo hated himself for failing to control them. He _had_ to control them, _somehow_ , before they destroyed him and everything he’d worked towards.

The Supreme Leader’s voice broke into his ruminations. “She is not like you.”

The wetness had spread to Kylo’s shoulder, accompanied by a tickling itch just below his eye and he detected it then—the sharp, metallic scent of blood. His wounds had re-opened. Blood dripped down his face, seeped into his tunic where she’d marred his shoulder and where the Wookiee had shattered his side.

“She is better than you,” his master whispered. The words lingered in the air, a culmination of every injury Kylo had endured so far and somehow, hearing them was the most agonizing thing of all. They were torturous words because he knew they were true.

Hatred exploded inside him, ricocheting through his being like a blaster bolt and just as murderous. He clung to the pain as he pushed himself up, let himself be carried away by the dark energy he struggled to contain. Kylo rocked back onto his calves, now kneeling before his master with newfound resolve. That ancient, primordial bloodlust was palpable. It called to him, and he knew he had no choice but to answer.

The Supreme Leader sat before him on the dais, withered and decrepit but wise. His master had not survived so long, had not conquered the very pith of the Force by way of compassion. Kylo knew he still had much to learn, but he could not do so while that girl, that _scavenger_ lived. One of the Praetorian guards stepped forward and stopped before Kylo to place something on the floor.

It was his lightsaber. His body sang at the sight of it. It was a song laced with agony, but the agony was just as much a weapon as the blade. Wielded together, his vengeance would be inexorable.

“Take it, Kylo Ren. And rise,” the Supreme Leader instructed.

With a bow of his head, Kylo did as he was told.

“This will be your final test. Your failure will be your demise.” The Supreme Leader’s voice was a requiem, his words a resounding death knell. It was just a question of whose.

“Yes master,” Kylo replied with a solemn nod. Dismissed and shaking, and soaked through with his own blood, he turned to take his leave of the throne room.

He would kill the girl—Rey—and take his place at his master’s side.

Death would be a gift if he did not succeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is my gift to the Star Wars fandom before I go dark for The Last Jedi! Many thanks to [@saturnine-stardust](https://saturnine-stardust.tumblr.com/) for the [lovely artwork](https://saturnine-stardust.tumblr.com/post/168278652377/this-will-be-your-final-test-your-failure-will) she created to accompany this piece. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
